A Pocketful of Letters
by doodlelover
Summary: A collection of Naruto drabbles and oneshots with no indefinite pairings. All genres. Ratings range from K to T.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, so this is going to be a collection of Naruto oneshots, drabbles, and miscellaneous stories that have no indefinite pairing. There will be some _mention_ of someone being paired with someone, there just won't be names, so you'll be able to fit in your favorite pairing with no restrictions. But for the most part, I want to stay away from pairings with this collection. So far, I'm doing a pretty terrible job at it. I hope to get better as the time stretches :)**

**Be warned, that there won't always be fluffy fluff fluff in this, 'kay? Be careful of bad humor, strained writing, and angst-ish stories that won't always be tearjerkers, but they won't make you happy either. I hope to keep your attention, though.**

**Disclaimer: If I ever take claim to anything, anywhere, at any time--feel free to open fire. I own anything, and me writing this makes no difference.**

**Need to know: If you're up to date with weekly Shounen Jump, good for you. Use your knowledge to your advantage and get that little mind thinking while reading this first one, alright?**

**Thankies and... _enjoy_.  
**

---

Naruto didn't know what their ending would be like. He never thought about it, that's all. Never had he ever imagined that there _would_ be an ending. But all stories had to have an end, right? Every person had to die, didn't they? No matter what . . . there always had to be an ending . . .

But not like this. This was not the ending he wanted. Not what he would imagine--had he ever--his and that person's ending would be like. There were no words for what he wanted their end to be like. Simple, is what he would ask for. Not dramatized and painful, is what he'd imagine it'd be like. But that wasn't it at all; the good or the bad, they just weren't . . . _there_.

_Nothing _is not what he wanted.

But that is what exactly what it was, nothing. Just a white expanse of . . . nothing. White wasn't what he expected either. Black, yes; gray, maybe. But not white. But he did remember an ending with white once upon a time, but unfortunately, he didn't want that to be their ending either. He had remembered wanting to re-do that ending, if he was given the chance to anyway. But he knew that in this ending, there were no re-dos, no seconds chances or hope of ever getting a last goodbye, a final word for what he wanted their end to be. This was the end, and that was it.

He remember that last touch at the end, too. It wasn't a heavy embrace, or a passionate kiss--he shuddered at that last part--because there was no time for that. All they'd had was a simple touch; the friction of their hands grasping each other. It was small, but it wasn't enough either. When he was at the end, he wanted to go out with a huge, booming _bang_. A hero to his village, is what he wanted to be. He didn't get that. All he got was this nothingness.

_Why?_

There was a battle, that much he remembered. Screaming, battle cries, explosions, cracks, snaps, crying, running, dodging, fighting, hitting, kicking, hand signs, scrolls, jutsu, kunai, stars, skin . . . blood. Oh yes, there was blood. It didn't scare him, he had seen enough of his blood to not be afraid of it. Blood was nothing to a soldier, a warrior and protector of his village and the people in it. To see that they didn't get hurt, you had to spill blood; you had to see it; you had to be the cause of it sometimes. For safety and peace you had to spill blood, you had to kill.

In a battle, you had to give your all, no matter what. And he had, or at least, he had tried to. Sacrificing yourself in the name of honor was one thing, sacrificing yourself for yourself was . . . it was horrible--humiliating. But he'd done it in the name of his village, despite what his friends had said, despite what--

He stopped himself. No, that was not it. He would not but the blame on the person that had to die with him. There was no excuse, there was no lying to himself that this wasn't his fault, he had died for nothing, he had died to be the reason his village and all the people in it were dead. He had killed them.

He, Naruto Uzumaki, had killed all of his reason for living.

This truly was his end, and the worst part--he wasn't even dead yet. He was alive, but there was someone on the outside, someone _controlling_ him. If he could cry in a place like this, he would. He would cry.

He would cry for his most important person, the one that he cared for, the one that he _tried _to protect with all his heart, soul and body. The one that held his hand through all of it, even the end, though he was not at it completely yet. He would cry for the person that he told--

He supposed that there was something greater than not being dead yet. The worst part was that . . .

He didn't even get to tell the other person . . . that he loved them.

---

**Yes, it's very short. But... tell me what you think?**


	2. Cold

**As I type this, I wonder to myself why I'm so _morbid_. And so completely dull that I've yet again used the ever-so-boring scenario of death... in the same way I did the last chapter. If you'd like, think of this as a companion to the last, just without a pairing. And before you ask: NO THERE IS _NOT_ A PAIRING. I didn't have one in mind, just wanted to write something with death. I like death fics, okay? They're fun to write, fun to read, fun to mess around with. If that's not something you particularly care for, leave, if you fancy.**

**Note to others who read my fics regularily... Um, I don't have as much time on the comp as I'd like. Sorry for anything and everything :(**

**Disclaimer: F off for trying to accuse me DX  
**

* * *

**Cold**

* * *

_She's so cold._

Naruto thinks that to himself as the sand shifts over the scatted rocks. The debris of a monumental happening are here and there, just scattered remains of battle and death. The clouds block the sun for a small moment before they blow past the shining star, onto the pink horizon that stains the very dirt he stands on a haunting color. The trees rustle for a second, and then fall mute once more.

_I'm so cold._

By now, these thoughts are no longer voluntary. He's just letting them sift through his mind one by one, trying not to let the emotions rise behind his eyes, beneath his muscles, and through his veins. It would be a shame to let all that training go to waste, after all. A shinobi doesn't show emotion; but was he even a shinobi anymore to begin with.

_He is so…. Cold._

And then he starts to cry. One by one they fall, those dew drops of salt and burning fluid. Saying that they light a blaze of fire down the paths they make wouldn't be over exaggerating. In truth, they are, and his skin is peeling off with it. He feels the ghastly breeze of evening air blow on a part of his body that shouldn't be showing. He knows most of his sanity has gone with that flesh -- onto the carnage riddled ground that was once his home.

_Is_ his home, for this will be the ground that he will always rest on. This will be the place he will forever lie. The dead bodies of his enemies will be his plutonian resting place. Naruto will fall on the carcasses of his comrades and enemies alike. They will bear his weight like he did them -- they will now carry him like he did they. They will be equal standing, they and he.

There will be no 'higher up' no 'Hokage' or 'leader'. Just dead bodies decaying.

Oddly enough, that is what brings a smile to his face. Not a sane one, but they last of a dying man -- a man that has been through stifle and struggle just to get here, to be able to call himself equal among dead bodies, dead bodies of the ones most important and the ones just _there_. Though he could not protect them, he is with them, and will remain with them.

Without a sound other than the storm approaching, he falls. A soundless echo among remains.

_It's cold._

* * *

**Don't get it? Be creative! It works for me. Or you could just ask, that works too.**

**Kind words? Constructive criticism? Gimme, gimme!  
**


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